Chosen
by Ben Barrett
Summary: AU. Harry Potter is a homeless man living on the streets of London. When Dumbledore shows up and offers him the chance to be a hero, will he choose to fight for others or turn his back? neutral!Harry. Possible HarryXDraco.
1. The Lost One

**Chosen  
by Ben Barrett**

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…  
Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…  
And the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…  
And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives._

-Sybill Trelawney

**Chapter One – The Lost One**

Albus Dumbledore appeared in the alley in a blinding white explosion that sounded like a small sonic boom. It was a violent upheaval of the normal tranquility of the place, which stank of piss and booze. A cat which had been digging through a nearby trashcan fled from him with a screech of rage. It knocked the metal container over in its haste, causing the contents to spill out onto the ground. Dumbledore looked down his crooked nose at the used condoms and black banana peels, the tiniest hint of a disgusted sneer tugging at the upper corner of his mouth. Muggles could be so _vile _at times.

There were several homeless people there, quaking beneath cardboard blankets. He knew his appearance there has frightened them, and the look in their eyes told him that they thought he'd come there to kill them. Where was the one he'd come to find? Surely he couldn't be _here_, not amongst the dregs of humanity, the decay of civilization. What kind of self-respecting wizard would allow himself to fall to such a level? Even the Weasleys, who were among the poorest of their kind, had once managed to build a house from an old pigpen. There was no reason for anyone with magical ability...

The thought occurred to him then, as it had numerous times, that this might be a waste of time. The one he came here to find might not _have _any kind of magical ability. He might just be a Muggle. It wasn't a thought he enjoyed and he always felt a cold chill run through his blood whenever it entered his mind.

A small ferret stuck its small head out of the pocket of his robes. The tiny pink nose twitched as it sniffed the air. It sneezed when it caught a whiff of the almost overpowering stench that usually pervades alleys. It began running a tiny claw through its little whiskers, trying to get the odor out of its nostrils. It clambered up to Dumbledore's shoulder and fixed him with a disapproving glare. It chittered in his ear and he nodded his understanding.

"I'm aware of how sensitive your senses are," he said. "I am truly sorry you have to endure this. However, if you wouldn't mind lending me a hand, I'm sure we could make quick work of our business here and be on our way."

The ferret nodded and scrambled down to the ground. It ran ahead, skirting around the puddles of piss and vomit. It stopped at one homeless Muggle who looked to be about seventy and sniffed at his face. The old tramp made a grab at the animal and it jumped back with a squeak of rage, showing its fangs.

"I wouldn't recommend getting too close," Dumbledore said, hoisting up his robes as he stepped over the puddles. "These types of Muggles are not known for their love of animals, or of much of anything for that matter."

The ferret squeaked its assent and moved on to the next person. It edged forward, trying to get close enough to catch a scent while keeping an eye out for any sudden movements. Dumbledore began working the other side, waving his wand over each of them in turn. He may not have the nose of a ferret, trained to sniff out magical blood, but he _did _know a few incantations that were sometimes used by the Death Eaters in determining blood status. It wasn't the method he would have preferred, but they didn't have a lot of time.

He reached the end of the alley where it joined up with the main street, which looked a great deal like Charing Cross Road, except not nearly as busy. It was, in fact, devoid of all life. He stood there beneath the yellow glow of the lamp post and looked up and down the sidewalk, trying to spot even one person, even a drunken straggler. No such luck. Dumbledore wasn't all that surprised; the Bobbies would be on patrol for anyone out at this hour of the night, and definitely would not tolerate anyone sleeping in a conspicuous place, especially in a high traffic or tourist area.

He turned back and saw that the ferret had inspected all the Muggles on the opposite wall and had likewise found nothing. The elderly tramp had a look in his eye that was cunning, underhanded, and _hungry_. Dumbledore didn't have to use Legilimency to understand it. The man was debating whether he could catch the ferret and kill it without being bitten or noticed. He looked as though he hadn't had a bite to eat in over a week.

"I think you will find that that particular ferret will give you a run for your money if you attempt something foolish," Dumbledore said, then knelt down and took a generous amount of Muggle money from his pocket. "Please take this and find yourself something a little more edible."

The old man snatched the money without a word of thanks and jumped from his cardboard bed. He scampered from the alley, nearly dancing with glee. He rounded the corner and vanished, never once looking back.

"Now that we have that little problem out of the way," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet and dusting off his hands, "perhaps it would be wise to employ some other methods in our search."

The ferret chittered in approval and ran back up to its perch on the old wizard's shoulder. Dumbledore backed up to the entrance of the alley, then took a small pouch out of his robes. He opened the pull strings and reached inside, drawing out a small amount of black powder in his palm. He held his hand out and blew the dust lightly toward the sleeping homeless. It expanded as it flittered through the air, becoming a bluish-gray cloud. When it had covered the entire area above the alley, blocking out the night sky above like a thunderhead, it began to descend. It broke up and vanished like steam as it came into contact with ground, tinkling lightly as it did so. The sound always reminded Dumbledore of windchimes, which in turn reminded him of the lazy days of youth, and he smiled.

When the cloud finally vanished entirely, the Muggles were once again asleep, dreaming of booze or spare change or whatever it was that homeless Muggles dreamed of. Dumbledore stepped forward again and pulled out his wand. The ferret looked at him with an inquisitive expression.

"Don't worry, I have a hunch," Dumbledore said, and gave his wand a swish-and-flick. "Homenum Revelio."

Instantly, they could see another figure begin to materialize in an empty space next to a large, green garbage bin. He was curled up into a ball and looked terrified at what was happening. The sleeping powder hadn't worked on him, just as Dumbledore had known it wouldn't. It was only for Muggles. Anyone with magical ability of _any _kind would be immune to the effects.

"I was wondering where you were hiding, my boy," he said. "Why don't you get up off the wet ground before you catch a cold?"

The man got slowly to his feet, though he did not move forward. He stood there by the trash bin, regarding the old man with a wary eye. He was weighing his odds, trying to determine how dangerous Dumbledore was and what his odds of getting out of the alley alive were.

"What do you want with me?" the man asked, scratching at his dirty black hair. The ferret on Dumbledore's shoulder recoiled in horror and squeaked anxiously.

"No, I don't think he has fleas," Dumbledore mumbled to the animal. Turning back to the man by the trash bin, he said in a louder tone of voice: "Might I introduce myself to you, Harry?"

–

Harry's eyes went wide. This man knew his name, and that caused him some alarm. Living the way he did, on the streets and always on guard, the only people who knew your name were your friends or the authorities. Harry had no friends. He'd learned long ago not to trust anyone, lest they rat him out or try to screw him over. That meant that this guy was most likely with the police, and that made him an enemy.

_He's awfully old to be a Bobby, _Harry thought. _He looks like he's a hundred years old, easy. Why would they send someone so ancient?_

Perhaps he was with some kind of secret government organization, then? That would certainly explain his weapons, if that's what they were. That black powder he'd used had been selective, like some kind of special nerve gas. Harry had breathed in his fair share of it, even felt it burning in his nose and in his lungs. He'd tasted it on his tongue, a strange citrus flavor that reminded him of lemon drops. Yet it hadn't put him to sleep like it had with everyone else.

_A terrorist, then? Was that anthrax in his bag? No, certainly not. A terrorist wouldn't worry about a bunch of homeless people, and anthrax wouldn't taste like candy._

Then there was the old man's stick, the one that had lit up like a laser pen and shown where Harry was hiding. Nobody – _nobody – _had ever managed to find him when he used his invisibility trick. He had no idea how he did it, only that when he was in serious trouble and in need of a place to hide, he could wish himself invisible. He'd discovered the ability at an early age, in what he thought was probably his third or fourth foster home. His older foster brother Tyler was a tosspot of the worst kind and constantly chased him with flaming sticks and dog chains, threatening him with bodily harm. One day he'd come close to catching him with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire and Harry had vanished into thin air. It had taken him two days to change back, and by then he'd been classified as a runaway. He was promptly packed up and shipped off to another home.

It took him over fifteen years of vanishing and reappearing before he'd finally gotten the hang of it. Of course, by then he'd come of age and the BAAF (or the BARF as he often called it) had shown him the door. Adults don't get to stay in foster homes. He quickly adapted to his situation and used his little gift to dodge the police and, on rare occasions, to steal food to keep himself from starving.

"You don't like that I saw through your little vanishing trick, do you?" the old Gandalf-looking bastard at the entrance to the alley asked. He'd moved a few feet closer. "Well I can tell you, Harry, that not only can I do that, I can do a lot of other things, and I can show you how to do them, too."

As he spoke, the man flittered in and out of sight like a chameleon. To say Harry was impressed would be an understatement. Even _he _couldn't pop in and out like that. It usually took him at least thirty seconds to change just _once_.

"Who are you?" Harry asked. He wondered what these other tricks were. Could he change into a bird, create things out of thin air?

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," the man said, "though most people just refer to me by my last name."

"Dumbledore then," Harry said. "How do you know me?"

Dumbledore took a step closer. To Harry's surprise, this didn't bother him as much as it would have even two minutes ago. Perhaps the old man was pulling another trick, some kind of mind control or something. Maybe if he could put multiple people to sleep at once he could mess with someone's emotions, too.

"I know a great deal about you, Harry James Potter," Dumbledore said. "I know that you never knew your parents, that you've been an orphan all your life, and that you feel out of place, like you're destined for greater things than sleeping in a filthy alley."

"Anything else?"Harry asked.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied. "There is much we need to discuss, though I think it might be better to do that over a warm meal, which I can tell you haven't had in quite some time."

"You...want to take me to dinner?"

"Yes, unless you object?"

Harry wasn't sure what to say. On one hand, this guy was offering a free meal and a chance to get off the street for at least an hour. He didn't get many offers like that, and he couldn't deny that it was tempting. On the other hand, however, he couldn't help but question the old man's motives. He seemed to have some unique abilities that he was willing to share, but he still hadn't given any definitive answers as to where he'd come from or what he really wanted. What if this whole thing was just a ploy to get him to take his shirt off or something?

"You're suspicious of me," Dumbledore said when he didn't respond right away.

"Of course I am," Harry replied. "You show up here out of nowhere, spray the place down with your mustard gas or whatever it was, claim to know all these things about me, and expect me to just follow along behind you like a puppy?"

"I expect you to do nothing," the old man replied. "I simply extended a friendly invitation to join me in the comfort of a local restaurant if you wish. A place as befouled as this is hardly the setting to answer your questions, or for you and I to get to know one another."

He stopped speaking as the animal on his shoulder began chittering in his ear.

"I'll leave the choice up to you, dear boy," he said when the animal fell silent. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that the old man was actually under the impression that he could _understand _what it said. "I have never been fond of repeating myself. If you choose to follow, I promise you that your life will never be the same. There will be answers to so many of the questions that have plagued you all these years. However, if you decide that you're satisfied with the way things are, please accept my apologies for disturbing you."

His gaze lingered on him for a moment longer and Harry suddenly had the strangest feeling of familiarity come over him, like he knew this man in another life or something. He could not explain it, for he had certainly never seen eyes of such piercing blue in his life, eyes that almost seemed to twinkle.

Then Dumbledore turned on his heel and walked out of the alley. The little rodent on his shoulder looked back at him as they rounded the corner and Harry could have sworn he saw it smirk at him.

_What the hell?_

Before he could have second thoughts about what he was doing, he rushed out of the alley after them, silently praying that he wasn't making a terrible mistake by doing so.

* * *

**Next Chapter: Dinner**


	2. Dinner

**Chapter Two – Dinner**

Harry swirled his dinner roll around in the gravy on his empty plate, the only remnants of his meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans. He sopped up all the juice the bread would hold, then stuffed it in his mouth and sat back and chewed contentedly. Dumbledore had certainly proven himself generous when he'd promised Harry anything he wanted off of the menu, requesting only a glass of milk and a slice of lemon crème pie for himself. These things he'd only indulged in in small portions, leaving them mostly ignored as he watched Harry nearly inhale his own food with a peculiar expression on his face.

"Feel better?" Dumbledore asked as Harry rubbed his swollen belly.

"Much," Harry replied. "They don't serve meals that good at the shelters."

"I'll bet not," Dumbledore answered. "So now we come to the part where I give you the answers I promised you."

Harry straightened up in the booth.

"I'd like to ask one question before we begin," he said.

"Of course."

"What's with that rodent that lives in your pocket?"

That was something he'd been especially curious about. Dumbledore seemed to have a very strange connection with that particular animal. On the way to the diner, Harry would have sworn he was having a conversation with it. Then, before they'd come inside to find their booth, he'd asked Harry to wait while he walked several feet ahead and placed it on the sidewalk. He'd knelt down and mumbled something to it, and it had _nodded _before running off down the street, its little claws tapping softly against the wet cement.

"Technically, a ferret isn't a rodent, Harry," Dumbledore replied. "A rodent is from the _Rodentia _order of mammals while the ferret is from the _carnivora _order, and is actually a type of weasel. As for why it often sits on my shoulder or rides in my pocket, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until later for the answer to that. It would be far too difficult to explain at this point."

"Why?"

"Because, it would require you to understand things I have not told you yet."

"Like what?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore sighed and picked up his fork. He took a small piece of his pie and chewed it slowly, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Harry had been around long enough to know that look when he saw it. It was the expression of a man chewing over his words carefully, picking over every detail with a fine-toothed comb. Whatever he was about to tell Harry was most definitely going to be edited so that only the most crucial bits of information were revealed.

"What if I told you that there are other people who can do what you do?" Dumbledore said finally. "People who can not only become invisible, but who can also change forms, travel from one place to another in the blink of an eye, and do countless other things you've only seen in your wildest fantasies?"

"Normally," Harry said, "I'd call you barking mad. I mean, sure I can do the whole vanishing bit, but I always considered it just a fluke, you know? The idea of people turning water into wine and walking through walls never really struck a chord with me. That's storybook stuff, the kinds of things you'd only see at the cinema or, like you said, in your fantasies."

"You said 'normally'.." Dumbledore replied.

"Yes," Harry explained, "normally that's exactly what I'd say. After what I saw you do tonight in the alley, though...I've gotta say that was really something."

"So you're not opposed to the idea of magic?"

"If that's what you wanna call it, yeah," Harry said. "I don't like the word 'magic', though. Makes me think of stage magicians with cheesy capes and top hats. Whenever those blokes showed up at the foster homes or BAAF events, I was always looking for the ace up his sleeve and the rabbit in his coat."

Dumbledore chuckled and folded his hands on the table in front of him.

"Real magic isn't about illusions, Harry," he said. "Real magic is something that you can't learn from a book or a weekend seminar. It's an ability you're born with, as much a part of your build as your blood type or the color of your eyes."

"Part of my genes," Harry said, mulling it over. "Magic."

"Yes."

"How many others are there?" he asked. "Like me?"

"Millions."

Harry was floored. He'd always considered himself unique. His ability to hide himself was something that set him apart, something that nobody else could do. To suddenly find out that _millions _of others could do the exact same thing was...overwhelming, to say the least.

"Wow..."

"Harry," Dumbledore said kindly, "I know this is a lot to process all at once, but there are far more important things I have to tell you. I'm sorry to say there is precious little time."

As if on cue, the ferret came running into the restaurant at that moment, dodging between the feet of the waitresses and making them scream.

"Rat!" one of them cried. "It's a rat!"

The ferret ignored her and rushed up to the table where Dumbledore sat with Harry. It chittered frantically, as if it were trying to get some message across. Dumbledore apparently understood this message, or at least pretended to, because he nodded his head in understanding.

"Yes, of course," he said. "And the girl?"

The ferret chittered again.

"I see," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet and throwing his napkin down onto his plate. "Then we shall leave immediately."

The ferret ran up his robes and vanished into his pocket.

"Come, Harry," Dumbledore said, walking toward the door without so much as a look back in his direction. "We have even less time than I realized."

Harry jumped up and hurried after him.

"Sir," he said, "what did...I mean...you can talk to animals?"

"Not really, no," Dumbledore replied, still looking straight ahead and walking almost as fast as Harry could run. "I'm fluent in Mermish, Gobbledegook and Parseltongue, but the ability to actually speak to animals is an area of study I never bothered to undertake. My brother Aberforth, on the other hand, seems particularly close to his goats..."

He trailed off, leaving Harry with more questions than answers. Mermish, Gobbledegook and Parseltongue? Were those even languages? Parseltongue sounded to him like slang used by postal workers, and Mermish...well, he wasn't really sure what to make of that. It sounded like something one might speak to mermaids and their like, but everyone knew mermaids were mythological creatures. He stopped believing in things like mermaids, trolls, goblins and centaurs a long time ago.

_Then again, _he thought, _I've seen a lot of stuff in the past hour or so that I wouldn't have believed in before._

"Sir..." he started to ask.

"Not now, Harry, please," Dumbledore said. His face was like stone and his eyes blazed with a fury that was frightening. "I need time to think. Everything will be explained to you soon."

They walked for a long while after that in silence. Every now and then the ferret would stick its head out and take a quick look around. Once it even looked over at Harry and Harry could have sworn he saw a look in its beady little eyes that was almost...contempt. That was outrageous, though. It surely must have been a trick of the light, nothing more.

Harry began to think about what it would be like to meet other people like him. Dumbledore had specifically said _millions_. How had millions of people with such remarkable abilities managed to hide themselves so well? He'd never seen anyone do so much as make a feather float without using some kind of illusion, like magician string tied to the fingers or some other such bollocks. Never in his life had he ever seen anyone else use _genuine _magic until Dumbledore came along.

Dumbledore turned suddenly to the left and headed into another alley. This one ended in a large brick wall covered with graffiti. Some clever artist had thought it prudent to declare in red spray paint that **Tony Blair is a tosser**.

_Political vandals, _Harry thought. _Now I've seen everything._

They stopped in front of the wall and Dumbledore stood there as if studying the message. The ferret emerged from his pocket once more and chittered at him.

"Patience," Dumbledore admonished. _"Patience!"_

The ferret fell silent but continued to stare up at him anxiously. Dumbledore stood there for several more minutes, clucking his tongue and ringing his hands. Harry wondered why they were even standing here. If they were in a hurry, standing in this alley was surely a waste of time. He was just beginning to consider speaking up himself when Dumbledore turned around and looked at him.

"Harry, I know you are confused," he said, "but I'm going to ask you for your trust."

"Okay," Harry replied, unsure if he liked where this was going.

"Take hold of me," Dumbledore said, reaching one ancient hand out to him. "And whatever you do, do not let go."

Harry was wary of this. They turn into a secluded alley and now the old man wants to hold hands? Under normal circumstances, this alone would have been enough to send him fleeing in the other direction. Do what you like in the privacy of your own home, but Harry Potter doesn't play for _that _team, no sir. Still, he'd followed the old man this far and no harm had come to him. Perhaps this was another type of magic?

"Quickly, Harry, please," Dumbledore said, and Harry heard a panic in his voice that hadn't been there before. He reached his hand out and did as he was asked. Instantly, there was a peculiar pulling behind his navel and he felt himself being drawn inwards, like water going down a bathtub drain.

–

He suddenly found himself far outside the city, by the banks of a river. A massive oak tree dominated the area, growing easily over a hundred feet tall. He had little time to appreciate the scenery, however. He fell to his knees, his stomach turning in knots. He knew he was going to lose it, that there was nothing he could do to stop it, but it didn't make it any easier to bear when his dinner came back up in a gush, spraying the grass with bits of partially digested meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

"Ugh," he moaned. "Oh, my God."

"Yes, that was a bit of a mistake on my part," Dumbledore said from behind him. "I should have remembered that the first disapparation is always the worst. Feeding you all that food was a terrible mistake, and you have my deepest apologies."

When he was finally able to stop retching and managed to rise to his feet, Dumbledore reached into his pocket and pulled out a lemon drop.

"It will help get the aftertaste out of your mouth," he said, offering it to him, "and will help you better deal with the aftereffects."

Harry took it with a grateful smile. He couldn't help noticing the ferret looking at him and the patch of vomit behind him with what looked like a disgusted sneer.

"We teleported?" Harry asked.

"Apparated," Dumbledore corrected. "Teleportation is a Muggle idea and only vaguely resembles the reality of what apparation is."

Harry didn't understand, but Dumbledore offered him no other explanation. Instead, he pulled a small pouch the size of a marble sack out of his robes and opened it up. He reached his arm into it, almost to the elbow, and pulled out several wooden stakes the size of bananas. He threw them onto the ground and stuck his arm back inside. This time he pulled out a wooden mallet.

"What are those..."

"No time to explain, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said, pulling a large red feather and a jar filled with yellow liquid out of the sack.

Harry was reminded of a movie he watched as a child called _Mary Poppins. _In one of the first scenes, the title character opened what she called a "carpet bag" and proceeded to pull things out of it like hatstands and full-profile mirrors.

_Makes me wonder if some people from the wizarding world were in on that movie._

Dumbledore began performing a strange ritual. He started walking in a large circle, measuring each step to make sure it was exactly the same as the others and counting each one. Every nineteenth step, he'd lay a stake down on the ground. The ferret followed beside him, never making a sound, just carefully observing. Once, Dumbledore nearly put a stake down on the eighteenth step but the ferret chittered angrily at him. He nodded, took another step and went on. When all the stakes were in place, he stepped out of the circle and returned to his pile of supplies.

"I should tell you that most magic isn't like this," Dumbledore explained as he picked up the jar of yellow liquid. "Most of it can be done without silly rituals. The portrayal of magic by the Muggles as requiring pentagrams and the blood of baby calves is complete bollocks."

"What is this you're doing, then?" Harry asked.

"Something far too complex for simple wand waving to achieve," Dumbledore answered, "though it would be a lot easier if I had a little help."

Harry thought he was talking to him and stepped forward to offer his assistance, but the ferret stepped up first. Before Harry's eyes, it began to lengthen and change shape. In almost no time at all, it took human form and became a tall, thin man with white-blonde hair and pale gray eyes.

"I thought you could handle it on your own, headmaster," the man said. "You are, after all, far more practiced at this kind of thing than I am."

"Be that as it may," Dumbledore replied, "we are in a bit of a hurry and two pairs of hands gets the work done a lot faster than one."

Harry was still staring in shock. Of all the things he'd expected, he _never _thought he'd see an animal turn into a person. Sensing his gaze, the two wizards turned and looked at him.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, "the two of you have been traveling together all night but haven't been properly introduced yet. I'd like you to meet Draco Malfoy."

**

* * *

Next Chapter: Off Course**


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